Target Underwear and a Vera Wang Gown by Adena Halpern

Author:Adena Halpern
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2011-07-19T07:15:38.259000+00:00

Tale of the Underwear from Target

hen you’re in the dating world, there is so much work in order to fake perfection. If you’re not careful, you might miss something crucial along the way. Gone is the idea of not putting on a little lipstick, even if you’re going to the 7-Eleven to pick up some Doritos for a late-night munch fest. Back is mascara at midnight. Gone is wearing the oversized sweats that don’t show off your body when you’re going to the gym. Back are the tight, uncomfortable leggings that make your butt look sexy (albeit giving you a wedgie) while gliding on the elliptical machine. Gone are the easy cotton Calvin Klein pullover sports bras for everyday use. Back are the lace bras with the underwire, which have a strong possibility of stabbing you in the boob should the protective covering fray. Gone are the days of wearing your glasses when you drive. Back is the inability to see the pedestrian crossing the street so the cute guy in the Porsche next to you will caution you with a beep, causing you to stop, smile a thank-you, get a number, get married, have kids, and get a dog and name him “ ‘Stigmatism” (Stiggy for short)—your little joke, of course, referencing the first time you met.

Felicia had fixed me up with this guy Mick. We had gone on a few dates and had a great time. When we went for sushi and he confessed his inability to use chopsticks, I claimed it was “adorable,” thus leading us into a comfortable zone.

One Sunday, Mick needed a fold-up card table and chairs, so we decided to head to the Target in the San Fernando Valley. We stopped at Krispy Kreme, contemplated a Wendy’s hamburger, but settled on fries and a Frosty. As our sugar highs deepened to schizoid proportions, we raced through the parking lot toward the Target store like wild boars stoned on crystal meth.

“Oh, remind me to get some underwear,” I casually requested.

Mick halted in mid-sugar freakout.

“Hold on. You buy your underwear at Target?” Mick rhetorically chided.

I stopped, shuddered, and tried to cover it—badly. “No, of course not. What, are you nuts? I was just kidding. All this sugar is making me say crazy things.”

We cruised the fold-up table section, contemplated an oak one, settled for plastic, but my mind was someplace else. It was a few yards away, in the Target lingerie section. My true bliss was hanging on a rack, albeit somewhat haphazardly, by the lucky ladies who had gotten there before me. So close and yet so far. My secret cheap thrill—Gilligan &r O‘Malley brand to be exact, 100% cotton, low-cut bikini with a full seat—comes in a pack of three. I’m wearing a pair right now (though 1 didn’t get them that day).

Later that week, Mick and I went on a double date with Felicia and her boyfriend, Hal.

“I wish Felicia would wear sexier underwear,” Hal thought out loud so Felicia would hear.

“How’s this for sexy,” Mick sarcastically commented.

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